


Winter Wind

by phanqueray



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, M/M, artistxpianist au, mentions of Dan's lil bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanqueray/pseuds/phanqueray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil hasn’t given Classical Music a second glance, what would happen if he’s lured by the pianist, Dan Howell, in a competition. As part of the audience, Phil can’t decide what’s more beautiful, the piano or its pianist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wind

**Author's Note:**

> this includes mentions of dan's little brother, this is a sensitive part of the fandom but i just added him as a side character

~ Phil~

 

A deep, tired sigh. 

Phil removes his paint-splattered hands from the equally paint-splattered canvas. Newspapers are beneath him and his work, the stool he’s sitting on is no different. He’s facing the window, the slightly cracked window letting me hear the shouts and cheers from the students playing football. He’s missing his after school activity, but he can’t care less, his painting isn’t even half done.

His goal is to have a piece of his art plastered on an art gallery by the age of 18. His friends, teachers and his parents all say it’s impossible but it’s three years ahead, he has time.

He isn’t the only one who’s skipping clubs, the person using the music room is too. Drama doesn’t do their practices there, and the choir was done an hour ago. He wonders if the person even has the permission to use the piano, as their teachers keep saying that it’s very delicate and you have to be careful when you play it, do it like you’re playing with a baby.

Phil can’t exactly hear what they’re playing since the ceiling is awfully thick. He washes his hands before he goes upstairs. 

Each step makes him hear the notes clearer, louder. When he’s in front of the music room, across the hallway, with his knees drawn to his chest, he can hear its flaws. The pianist can’t be lazier than this, simply dragging their fingers across the keys, pressing with disinterest. Phil starts to wonder if they even like playing the piece, or even the piano.

Phil closes his eyes, relishing the sound that isn’t that pleasing, and is not that awful as well. He relaxes a bit, the piano being played by boredom, makes him relax. He daydreams a bit, thinks about scenarios that can make his life, and his life as a future artist, easier, like the miracle of someone who’s famous in the art world noticing his work and proclaiming it to the whole world. 

The piano stops being played.

Phil doesn’t really mind, he actually likes the pause. He hears footsteps and the door opening. He opens his eyes.

Dan Howell is staring at him.

Dan Howell, he’s the ones who rarely participate in class. He’s the one who always sits alone at Lunch. It’s not that nobody loves him or care, they actually care at least a little, but he pushes most people away, as if he’s running away from social interaction.

Dan squints then asks, “How long have you been listening?”

He has an angered expression, Phil can’t understand why.

“A few minutes ago.”

Dan was about to say something before he notices Phil’s (still) paint-stained fingertips. His expression softens.

“Do you wanna go inside?” He mutters, loud enough for Phil to comprehend.

“Um,” he mumbles before nodding silently.

Phil never stepped into the music room without a teacher waiting for him (and his classmates) inside. The music room is empty, the walls brown and clean, the floor waxed, making it look like it’s wet. The piano has sheet music on it and coffee cup beside the papers. Dozens of other instruments surround the corners of the room. There are triangles on the walls, trombones hidden in the cabinets, guitars and ukuleles out in the open, but, somehow, your attention will always go to the piano. 

“So, Phil, why aren’t you in clubs?” Dan asks.

“Why aren’t  _ you _ in clubs?” Phil retorts.

Dan frowns. “I asked you first.”

Phil folds his arms. “Real mature.”

Dan giggles. His smile is pretty.

“I’m painting a painting.” Phil shows his fingers for proof. “You?”

“I’m practicing for a competition,” Dan says, boredom striking his eyes.

“What were you playing?” Phil sits on the piano stool, just because.

Dan joins him, touching the keys with his fingers and closing his eyes. “Etude Opus 25 No. 11.” 

He says it so casually, as normal as you would when you say ‘Taylor Swift’. Phil thinks he’s heard it before, “Winter Wind” might be the closest thing he can relate to it. He once saw the sheet music for it, it wasn’t exactly a pretty sight.

“That’s a hard piece.” Phil comments, watching Dan’s fingers run across the keys, not pressing anything.

“Eh, sure.” Dan still has his eyes closed when he plays the first few notes again. It’s soft and even a little sad. 

Phil stays silent.

“What brings you here, Phil Lester?”

He pronounces ‘Lester’ a little funnily. 

“Uh,” Phil mumbles, words not rolling off his tongue smoothly. “The sound of your piano.”

“It led you here?” Dan’s extending his arm in front of Phil, who’s surprisingly not a distraction for him.

“Yeah,”

Dan smiles again. “That’s nice to know.”

 

~ Dan ~

 

Phil Lester has pretty eyes. 

They’re like his fingers, bursting with color and creativity. Dan’s kinda jealous of that. He’s limited to black and white keys, the soft sound of a much boring piano. He wishes he could paint or draw, he wishes that a canvas is the last thing his father left him, not a grand piano in the basement and an upright one in his room.

Phil Lester was led to the music room, following Dan’s music. Did he feel the need to stop painting to follow his sound? Was he idled for a while then heard Dan play and went immediately? 

Questions like those always burn Dan’s mind, he could never let them out. He was afraid of something bad happening if he asks them.

Weird. He is weird.

 

~ Phil ~

 

Phil isn’t completely sure why he’s in front of the music room during lunch the next day. Maybe he wants to see Dan again? It’s kinda ridiculous if that’s his reason. He could see Dan everyday, at the third row in Maths. Even if he feels invisible, he isn’t.

Phil doesn’t hear any playing, though, sadly. When he turns around, Dan is staring, smiling, at him. 

He’s chewing something, probably the sandwich in his hand. He chews slowly, like a baby when it first got a spoon full of starch. He swallows. 

Phil feels frozen.

“Are you looking for something?”  Dan asks before taking another bite.

_ You _ . 

“Um, I don’t know, actually.” Phil lies, his fingers ruffling his hair because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

“Oh, okay.” Dan smiles. Bite. Chew. Swallow.

“Were you about to play the piano?” Phil asks, genuinely curious about Dan’s answer. He doesn’t know why he’s attracted to his music so much.

Dan just nods. Bite. Chew. Swallow.

Phil feels his heart beat fast, he doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t  _ care _ why. He kinda just does. He wonders what kind of sandwich Dan’s eating. It must be good as he finishes it a few moments after.

Dan goes into the music room, Phil trailing behind him. 

Phil listens to Dan play the same piece he did yesterday, around ten times more. It’s only around four minutes, never the same exact time. Sometimes it’s 4:52 or sometimes it’s 3:47, he doesn’t really follow the tempo.

He listens to it after school. Then the day after this. Then everyday of the week.

 

~ Dan ~

 

Phil’s always with him when he practices. He doesn’t mind, really. It’s feels different to have someone around. The good different, the feeling of loving something new. Nobody ever felt to visit him while he was playing the piano, he doesn’t mind that either. Playing in front of Phil is nice. Yeah, it’s nice.

“Dan!” His little brother once opened his door and disturbed his practicing. “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to study.”

Dan wanted to protest, the Lowe Competition is a month away, he needs to practice. He wants to practice. Before he could say another word, his brother grinned, gesturing their mom. Dan also knows that Mom will side with Adrian, since he’s a little shit.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Anyway, Phil is next to him while Dan extends his arm to play. He doesn’t mind his presence, even if it’s a bit harder for him to reach the keys. He kinda takes it as a challenge. He just hopes he isn’t disturbing Phil.

Phil looks absorbed, if that makes sense. His shoulders aren’t tensed, his eyes are closed, his fingers aren’t covered with paint. His uniform fits him imperfectly, like he’s the type of guys who’d be in a jock table, the ones who mess up their ties. 

They’ve never had a proper conversation before, Phil and Dan. They were both kinda just, well, there. They aren’t friends or anything, it’s actually a full mystery to why Phil followed Dan’s music.

 

*

 

As expected, Phil gets a high score in Maths. 

Dan sits on the first row, always staring at the boy who can solve an equation in a millisecond from across the room.

It’s hard, he’s struggling with balancing his school and competitions. As much as he loves playing the piano, his only outlet of letting his hidden emotions, he’s getting low grades at school, almost never handing in his unfinished homeworks, skipping Sports and Club Activities for his piano.

He looks at Phil, who’s putting away his test paper with such an indifferent expression, the opposite of what he looks like when Dan’s playing, his face is indescribable, like his emotions are pouring out all at once.

Dan has an idea.

 

~ Phil ~

 

Dan wants Phil to tutor him for Maths.

“What?” Phil says, not in a mean way, he’s just really confused.

Dan looks flustered. “Well, you’re good at it…”

Oh, yeah, he kinda is.

“I’m also failing,” Dan adds, maybe for sympathy, who even knows.

“Well, are we gonna start tomorrow? After school?”

Dan lights up. “You agree?”

“Uh, yeah, why not? It’ll be a great study for me.”

“Thank you so much!” Dan wraps around Phil’s shoulders and realizes it a second too late. He blushes, unlocking his hands and smiles apologetically.

Phil doesn’t mind it at all.

“You’re doing me a great favor.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, honestly.” 

It’s true. If Phil’s being completely honest, he’s actually happy to have something planned. After an hour, most of his homeworks are done, he has nothing to do for the rest of the day. TV’s boring, there isn’t much he can do with his phone since it’s broken. His room’s a bore, his new canvases aren’t gonna arrive until next week.

He is happy he has something to do.

 

*

 

Dan’s house is big, intimidating, and cold. It has three floors, one for the living room and the kitchen, the second for the rooms and the third for other rooms. Huge. Intimidating. Almost like an art gallery.

“Mom! I’m home!” Dan shouts as he closes the door, a small smile on his face. Phil wonders if it’s because of his presence.

“Welcome back.” Dan’s mom appears from the kitchen, with a small smile as well, just not as genuine. “You must be Phil.” She extends her hand.

Phil takes it politely.

“I’ve heard so much about you. I had no idea my son was such a great describer of features.” 

“We’re going upstairs.” Dan interrupts, his face rosy.

Mrs. Howell’s smile fills with sincerity. She seems nice.

“Have fun.” She calls while they go to Dan’s room.

A brown piano is at a corner. Dan’s room is monochromatic, like the keys of his piano. His bedsheets are black, white and gray. His curtains are drawn, not letting much light into it. It’s pretty much of a mess, like a kid’s room; papers and clothes are everywhere.

Despite those, it feels comfortable.

Dan drops his bag on the bed and fishes for his Math homework. Phil did it during lunch, while Dan was playing. It’s good study music, to be honest. He made a mental note to record it sometimes.

“Here we go!” Dan holds it up high for Phil to see, grinning like crazy.

 

*

 

Dan complains a lot about not being able to play the piano.

“Then play!” Phil suggests, even if they aren’t half done.

“But I won’t be able to finish this, Phil.” Dan taps his pen on his desk, his lips a bit too forward, like he’s trying to kiss the air.

“Well, if you keep complaining, you won’t be able to finish this either!” Phil debates, a slight feeling of victory in his stomach. He’s right, he knows it.

Dan blows a raspberry and frowns. “I’m complaining because I won’t even be able to use it.”

Phil’s about to protest, but keeps his mouth shut. There is something about Dan’s eyes, like they’re staring off the distance, watching the birds or maybe he’s humming a lullaby while walking down a train track of thoughts. Whatever he is thinking about, Phil couldn’t read it.

Phil believes him, even if he’s completely wrong.

 

**

 

“Have you been studying for Math?” Phil asks, his head on Dan’s pillow as he reads his answers.

“Why?” Dan asks back, playing the piano. The competition is in a few days, he practices more now. Phil thought he was spending all of his time on the piano, ignoring what he’s been teaching him.

“Well,” Phil smiles, “most of your answers are correct here. That’s pretty cool considering this is a practice test.”

Dan stops playing, the sound of silence shocks Phil. Dan turns, slowly, his hands on his lap, his forehead beaded with sweat. He’s smiling.

“I did try hard, just saying.” He laughs and Phil laughs with him. 

Phil kinda likes how Dan opened up his curtains before he arrived in the room. He kinda likes how there aren’t much clothes or homeworks on the floor. He likes how the piano is a bit more colorful, at least when Dan’s playing it. He likes that he just notices the little firefly nightlight on his bedside table, the Muse poster stuck to his wall, the gray shade of his curtains. They’re all soft and nice and it feels as if Phil’s in the past, his surroundings glowing like the stars, his mind full of wonder. 

It’s good to know Dan’s working hard for both important things in his life.

 

~ Dan ~

 

It’s finally the Yome Competition, Dan can’t get more nervous than this. His hands are shaking, can he even play the piano? The stadium is huge, he’s still surprised at the space, even if he competes every year. 

Phil says he’ll be watching in the front row. 

Dan can’t get more nervous than this.

 

*

 

Waiting is worse than performing. When you wait, your heart beats too fast, you feel like you’re gonna faint, your hands will shake and your lips will quiver. When you perform, everything flushes out. Everything is natural. You feel your fingers light and the sheet music you’ve studied for three whole months is memorized. Dan wants to perform instead of wait.

He wants to see the view of the people, the view of the applause. Will they scream and cheer for him? Will they await him? Will he be able to leave a good impression to the ones who came in for the first time? Will he be able to make someone go ‘I wanna become a pianist!’ like he did when he was 5?

Will his music reach him?

He hopes it does.

 

~ Phil ~

 

It’s Dan’s turn. He’s swift in entering the stage, a steady pace gets him to the seat quickly. He looks at ease, like the piano is a diary meant for other people to read.

Phil looks at him, the lights blinding him, the silence ringing in his ears.

Dan starts to play. Slowly, like a curtain being drawn during the morning. It leaves rests, silence to soak up the rich sound. This is Etude Opus 25 No. 11, no doubt. This is what Dan’s been practicing everyday at school and while studying.

It sounds entirely different.

It’s children running, playing tag across the keys. The sound’s changed. It was plain and dull and monotonous. At Dan’s hands, it’s like he’s painting with any color he can find.

Phil feels as if he’s listening to it for the first time, grabbing him like a claw machine in an arcade, hugging him tightly and with so much love. It’s like the first time you watched the finale of your favorite show, tears streaming down your eyes as you feel so glad to have watched it. His ears feels calm, he has nowhere to look but up at the pianist who doesn’t like doing Maths.

He questions,  _ Are you thinking about me? _

 

~ Dan ~

 

_ Of course I am. _

 

~ Phil ~

 

Phil has the urge to grab his heart and pull it out, it feels as if it’s gonna burst. This is magical. Phil is once again a child, his father lifting him up on his shoulder, both laughters as loud as they could ever be. 

_ Dan. _

That’s all he can think.

_ Dan. Are you playing for me? Why does it seem like you’re talking to me, through your music? _

A picture can say a thousand words, the statement isn’t complete. Art can mean a thousand words. Music can mean a thousand words. Paintings can tell you a story. A word can mean a variety.

_ What could  _ you _ mean? How many words define you?  _

Phil wants to know all of them, head to toe, synonym to acronym. He wants to know Dan better, deeper, feel as if they have a bond not anyone can break. Not grades, or school, or places. He’d like them to be connected.

_ Dan Howell, you are a miracle, something someone cannot explain. You’re quiet in class, lazy while doing your homework, yet so many words are said in presses of keys, the presses of black and white keys.  _

_ You feel blue. And yellow. And green. And red. You’re purple and orange and anything in between. How can you paint a stadium with the echos of a piece that isn’t even yours? _

 

~ Dan ~

 

Dan doesn’t win, or get through the prelims at all. He’s not on the list and he doesn’t feel bad. Is it normal? For him to feel okay with losing? Is it not human nature to have your heart broken if you lose?

Dan doesn’t feel his lost until he’s outside looking at Phil. 

_ I’m sorry. _

What is he sorry for? Why does he need to apologize?

He lightly headbutts Phil’s chest, his eyes glassy.

The stars are above them, the night sky dark.

“I didn’t make it through.” Dan states, to his surprise, his voice much more hurt than he imagined. His heart feels bad.

Phil opens his arms as Dan’s cheeks are splattered with tears. Messy. Dripping wet. The warmth of Phil’s embrace. He doesn’t say anything, both of them stay silent, or as silent as Dan can be. His short breaths and modulated screams are muffled in Phil’s jumper.

How weird is this? How silence can give you comfort? How screaming gives you it as well?

Dan’s eyes are soaking Phil’s jumper. He can’t say anything. He’s felt worse, but it doesn’t mean this can’t hurt him. Messy. Dripping wet. The warmth of Phil’s lips as it touched his forehead.

“I lost.” Dan states in between breaths, feeling its truth seep into him like alcohol after your third shot.

“I lost.” He did, after everything, he did.

“I lost. I lost. I lost!” Dan tries to grab Phil’s shirt for support, to feel something that would bound him in this moment. He lost and he doesn’t like it.

Nobody likes this situation, where all your hard work is put in the garbage. The feeling of your knees when they get weak, your hands shaking like they did while you were waiting. Your eyes getting blurred by your tears, the pavement getting wet. Dan doesn’t like this at all.  

“It’ll be okay.” Phil whispers, it feels like moonlight.

_ Will it? _

“It will be.”

_ Are you sure? _

“You’ll be fine.”

Dan believes him, even if he’s completely wrong.

 

**

 

“You painted this?” Dan half screamed in the art room as Phil revealed the painting he has done for years.

“I’ll try to get it into an art gallery when it’s finished.” Phil is staring at his artwork. “I wanna fulfill my dream as an artist and get it in before or when I’m eighteen.”

Dan smiles, it’s nice he has a goal, something he wants to fulfill in life. Dan doesn’t think he has time.

He stares, along with Phil, at his art. It’s a boy playing with the blue stars, at least that’s what Dan thinks it is. It isn’t done, maybe at least 30% done.

The painting is every shade of blue, like a palette. It cools Dan’s eyes, making him relax and feel at ease.

 

~ Phil ~

 

It’s about to rain when they go out of the art room after school. The clouds are gray and heavy. The streets are empty and Phil doesn’t have an umbrella.

“So what?” Dan says, within a reaching distance, without the protective roof Phil’s standing below in. He smiles, making Phil’s heart flutter.

“So I’d rather not get a cold.”

“It’s not raining yet.”

“It will.”

“Not yet.” Dan grabs Phil’s hand and drags him out of the shade. He lets go and spreads his arms wide open.

Phil’s looking at his back as he runs behind Dan, struggling to keep up. He speeds up, feeling a spring in his foot. The rain isn’t coming down yet, right? They can outrun it, get to their houses before it could fall down the pavements. Their effort will pay off, Phil knows they’ll make it.

Dan’s screaming, his voice hoarse and cracking and a bundle of emotions. Phil is at his side and he smiles. Phil laughs as they see their neighborhood at a distance.

“We’ll make it!” Phil shouts.

“Yeah!” Dan shouts back, giggling. 

The rain starts to fall, Phil feels it at his shoulder. They’ll make it.

It’s pouring.

Dan stops, breaths shallow and he’s drenched in sweat. Phil is too, feeling the slightest bit of adrenaline in his stomach. The rain is lightly patting their faces and hands and clothes. Phil likes this feeling, time stopping and them standing still, engulfed by the rain. He likes how Dan closes his eyes and laughs when they’re dripping wet.

“We could’ve outrun it.” He smiles.

They didn’t, though. Dan trips and falls into Phil’s arms, reminding him about the time he lost the Yome competition. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Phil says, looking at their neighborhood and smiling. Dan is a bit crazier than he expected.

Dan opens his eyes and smiles at him. “You’re right.”

 

**

 

“Dan?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t think I’ll finish my painting, ever. I’ll stop.”

Dan stops playing the piano, the piece is the  'Waltz' from -The Sleeping Beauty. He slaps Phil’s shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.”

“What?”

“You better not stop.”

“Why?”

“Because you want it.”

“It’s exhausting.”

“So?” Dan makes Phil look at him. How can brown eyes sparkle?

“Fine, I won’t.”

“Good.”

  
  


**

 

Phil decides to take his painting to his house. His mom doesn’t mind, as long as he doesn’t disturb her while she’s working.

“I’m home!” Phil shouts, his hands holding his piece with care.

His mom doesn’t respond, he doesn’t mind.

His room is cleaner than Dan’s, if he can brag about that. His clothes are arranged in color, his books are stacked neatly. His duvet is blue and green but it has the pattern of Dan’s. The walls are white and filled with posters. He has a Howl’s Moving Castle to his right and a bunch of Muse and art stuff to his left. He places his canvas next to the window, near his bed.

He stays up all night trying to get his painting half done. His fingers are aching, he’s sweating, he’s smiling. He’s giving everything he’s got, he wants to be included in an art gallery so bad.

He passes out without even noticing.

 

*

 

Phil groggily wakes up at 4 am, his phone ringing about a phone call. He’s annoyed at whoever is calling him this late. He ignores it, trying to keep the caller to get off his back.

It’s still ringing.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

It’s seems to go on forever. He’s pissed at the incompetence of the caller.

“Hello?” He says it a bit too angrily.

“Why are you still awake?” Dan screams, making Phil distance his phone from his ear.

“Because you kept calling me,” Phil fumes. He doesn’t know how important Dan has to say to him to call him this late.

“Look out the window,” Dan says, “the moon is so pretty.” 

Phil takes a glance. It is, like a nightlight in a dark room. “Is that all you have to say?”

“My mom wants to take us to dinner later, are you free?”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, I barely have plans on Fridays.”

“Good, I’ll tell her later.”

“Go to sleep!”

“You too, you hypocrite.”

“Bye,”

“Bye bye!” Dan hangs up after his last syllable.

Phil looks at his fingers, they’re trembling from exhaustion. They’re not yet washed, Phil would’ve continued sleeping if Dan hadn’t woke him up.

He washes them and gets into his pajamas. His bed is warm.

The moon seeps into his curtains. It is pretty.

 

**

 

Dinner was fantastic. Dan’s mom is so nice and actually very funny too. She keeps telling stories about how Dan was such a troublesome kid, jumping everywhere, not listening to her or his dad.

Their table was filled with laughter and protests (mostly coming from Dan). Phil was dressed in casual clothes, a galaxy jacket over his lion shirt, black jeans and white shoes. Dan was wearing a pink jumper and white jeans. It was nice to see Dan out of their uniform, out of a suit. He seems someone who wouldn’t enchant you with his music.

After dinner, his mom smiles at him while Dan goes to the comfort room.

“His brother is having a sleepover today and he told me to ‘get Dan out of the way’, can he sleep at your place?”

Phil’s mom won’t care and Phil is very much amazed at how Dan’s mom trusts him. Phil nods.

She sits back, her smile feels warm.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing really.” Phil points out. She shakes her head.

“Thank you.”

Dan returns, asking what he missed.

“I just finished paying the bill. You’re staying at Phil’s place tonight.”

“Really?” Dan seems happy about the news. “I don’t have to see Adrian’s bratty friends!”

“Don’t call your brother’s friends brats!”

“Well, they are.” Dan takes a bite out of the last breadstick. “They broke your vase once, you know.”

Her eyes widens. “Adrian said that was a cat.”

Dan shook his head.

Phil laughs in his mind. He feels out of place yet he’s comfortable. He’s like an audience watching a sitcom.

 

*

 

Dan tells him to carry him.

“You’re not five, Dan.” Phil says but he eventually gives in.

Dan is light, very light. He presses his forehead on Phil’s back, his fingers squeeze Phil’s shirt a lot. His legs dangle in front of him, swinging and kicking the air with little effort. Phil doesn’t complain, he likes the silence they’ve created. He loves how they’re so close right now yet they don’t talk. They’re just here.

The stars are above them, shining so extraordinarily. The night sky has blended with noon, a bluish gradient that Phil can’t help but look at.

Dan’s grip tightens.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. Even if Phil is confused, he doesn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

There’s nothing to apologize for.

“I’m so so so sorry.”

 

*

 

Dan looks like an angel when he sleeps.

When Phil couldn’t bear the silence anymore, he asked Dan, “Will you be entering a new competition soon?”

Dan paused, maybe he was trying to reclaim the silence they had. “Yeah.”

He said it like it was a secret, something that’s opposite to his music.

Sometimes Phil doesn’t get Dan. When he thinks he does, Dan throws him something like this. He might be good at Maths, but he’s not good at analyzing real life problems.

Dan sleeps on Phil’s bed, Phil below him. 

He has his eyes on Dan, fully awake. He notices that Dan moves gently and rarely when he sleeps. His breaths are gentle, his lips are relaxed. Dan looks nice in color. 

Dan rolls over to his stomach and his arm falls to the floor. 

Phil notices his curly hair. He smiles.

His fingers touch his carpet, a slight brush on the fabric. Phil likes to think he’s dreaming about playing the piano but laughs it off in his mind.

 

*

 

“Bye!” Phil waves as Dan walks away from his house. 

Dan turns around, still walking, and waves his hands enthusiastically. “Bye bye!”

Phil notices how Dan always says it twice.

 

**

 

Dan and Phil don’t communicate much that weekend. Phil’s a slave to his canvas, painting until his fingers couldn’t move, sleeping at 2 am on his desk. He figured that Dan is training for the competition he mentioned last night.

When Monday comes, Dan isn’t in the music room. He isn’t in Maths too. Phil is sipping on orange juice, watching the clouds go by when he decides to call Dan, just to see if he’s sick.

No answer.

Phil goes to Dan’s house and knocks on the door. No one’s home, that makes his stomach churn.

Dan isn’t at school on Tuesday as well. Phil keeps looking at his seat in Maths, the first row, the third seat from the front. It’s empty. Phil doesn’t like that it’s empty. 

He sits alone in the music room, looking at the closed piano in front of him, saying nothing but silence.

It’s Wednesday when he gets the call.

“Dan’s in the hospital.”

 

*

 

Feet trudging against the cement. Sweat dripping down his cheeks. Fists clenched. Gasps barely escaping closed lips. Twists and turns in his stomach. 

Phil hurries up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the slow elevator. 

Running, running.

Opening the door labeled “Dan Howell”.

Dan was looking out the window before Phil entered. 

 

~ Dan ~

 

_ So you did come. _

 

~ Phil ~

 

After he’s settled down, Phil sits beside Dan, not feeling the slightest bit okay. But Dan is smiling.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Phil’s fingers excitedly, maybe he’s trying to see if he has colored ones.

“Wh-What happened?”

Dan sighs. “I’m ill.”

Ill?

Phil’s silence drives Dan to continue.

“I’ve been anemic all of my life.” Dan bites his lips. “I got worst. Phil, I’m sick.”

Phil doesn’t want to believe that, even if there’s an IV stuck to Dan’s arm. He wants to think that Dan will get better tomorrow or the week after this. He’ll be fine, like Phil promised.

“I’m here, right now,” Dan states, “because my legs won't work.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t move them…” Dan’s voice start to break. Phil grabs his hand. 

“No need to tell me more.”  _ Because you can’t and I don’t want you too. _

“Anyway, I’m an in patient for now,” Dan blows a raspberry. “It’s boring here, I can’t wait to play the piano again!”

“Well,” Phil gulps. “Will you join school next year?”

He doesn’t know why he asked that, why he wants to know about Dan’s future. Why he feels as if his heart is gonna break to whatever Dan’s gonna say. 

“Of course!”

It sounds like a wish, something forced to come out.

Phil touches the tip of his nose to Dan’s. 

Brown eyes. Paler skin. Dry lips. Spoken lies.

_ None of what you’re saying is true. _

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah,” Dan smiles. “No need to worry!”

 

~ Dan ~

 

When Phil leaves, his sigh is heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

“Don’t act so glum around me! You’ll make me even sicker!” Dan orders after Phil sulks in front of him. How rude.

He likes that Phil is still in his school uniform, meaning he rushed here right after the bell rang. It’s comforting, unlike the rough blanket on top of his paralyzed legs.

 

Dan didn’t even expected that he’d fall, or lose one of his limbs in such a bad way. None of his family members did, Phil wouldn’t think about it for a second. Dan never told him until now.

He’d just woken up and groggily got to the kitchen. Adrian was eating eggs and a crumpet. He didn’t bat an eye at his brother.

“Hey Ad--woah!” Dan’s voice was like tripping on your own legs kind of tone. When you do something so embarrassingly stupid, you laugh at yourself. It was the ‘oh how clumsy of me!’ voice. 

Dan wasn’t clumsy this time around.

He hit his head on the table and fell like a shooting star. He was unconscious for a second. He opened his eyes and everything was all red.

“Mom!” Adrian was scrambling like a bird with a broken wing. He ran to their mother’s room with so much concern in his voice, Phil was worried about him more than himself.

“It’s okay,” he wanted to shout out. He was just tired from lack of sleep; it was probably because he was drowsy.  

There were broken plates and glasses around him. His head hurt, a lot. He looked at his legs, telling them to move. 

“Wh--?” Dan tried again but it felt like his legs were numb. They’re probably stuck sleeping.

Dan tried to shake it off but he couldn’t stand up. He didn’t know what’s happening.

“Dan, Dan! Are you okay?” His mom rushed out of the room, so worried and scared. She put her hand on her mouth. “Blood.”

Dan looked down. The carpet was stained with blood, thick disgusting blood. He collapsed; next thing he knew, he was in the hospital.

 

“Well I can’t help it!” Phil complains, sitting down next to him. They both laugh, the opposite of what Phil was doing the moment before.

This was nice, not being treated as if he’s not gonna die. That’s mostly because Phil doesn’t know it yet.

“I brought you an anime to watch, if you’d like.”

“Title?”

“Parasyte.”

“I haven’t watched that yet. I didn’t know you liked anime.”

Dan realized he didn’t know much about Phil at all.

“Oh I love it, believe me. I thought it would scare you because I talk about it too much.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re at the same level.”

They giggle before Phil put the disc in his laptop.

As much as Dan wants to watch the anime, he can’t stop staring at Phil. Phil’s eyes are sparkling, like stars at the night and the sun in the mornings. He wonders if the shining will stop when he tells him, if he ever tells him.

 

~ Phil ~

 

Dan asked to bring his Math homework at the hospital, so here he is.

“You have  _ this _ much?” Dan complains, looking at the (small, if Phil’s honest) stack of papers on his bed.

Phil shrugs. “For the past few weeks while you were gone. Do you want me to help you?”

“Nope, I’ll do this when you’re not here, I wanna spend more time with you.”

Phil laughs. “Okay.” 

He puts the stack on Dan’s wheelchair.

“Are you still painting your piece?”

Phil shakes his head, disappointed mostly on himself.

“Continue, please.”

Phil looks at Dan. He gives in. “Okay, I will when I get home.”

“Don’t stay too long here, your canvas will cry if you’re late.”

Phil laughs. “Shut up.”

 

*

 

Phil lies on his bed, his back against the wall, his blanket barely keeping warm. He likes winter, just not its nights. He looks at his fingers; they’re clean but trembling so badly. He outworked them, he should stop doing that.

“Take care of yourself!” Dan ordered before Phil could leave the room.

There, he’s made Phil put on his pajamas and wash his hands. Phil kinda missed his bed. It’s so much comfier than his desk.

 

~ Dan ~

 

Dan hates his hospital room. He hates how he can’t go anywhere without assistance. He wants to run in the rain again, trying to beat it’s fall. 

Why him?

 

~ Phil ~

 

When he arrives at the hospital, Dan is at its garden, sitting on the grass with his wheelchair behind him. He waves with his arms like he’s reaching the stars. He’s shouting, “Phil! I’m right here.”

“Are you trying to be one with nature?” Phil asks, sitting down beside him.

Dan’s looking up at the sky while the sun’s setting. The trees scatter the light on his face, making it look like he’s glowing.

“If I can, I would.”

They laugh.

Phil thinks it’s good that they laugh. It seeps out all the bad thoughts they have, all the doubts and worries and despair in them. It’s like when Dan plays the piano and when Phil paints all day long. Laughing is a bit like venting.

Dan’s laugh fades out of Phil’s hearing. He hears him mumble, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Phil asks gently.

“I really like chocolate cake.”

Phil bursts out laughing harder than he intended to.

 

~ Dan ~

 

That’s not what he meant to say but he was too scared. He sits uncomfortably beside a very hysterical Phil.

“Let’s go upstairs already,” Dan suggests, he’s feeling a lot tired.

Phil nods.

 

*

 

They’re the only ones in the elevator. 

Dan grabs Phil’s hand and squeezes it, just to see if he’s real.

Just to see if he’s still alive.

 

~ Phil ~

 

Phil sees Dan at the same spot for the whole week. When it came to Friday afternoon, they stay under the stars for a few hours.

“Dan,”

“Mm?”

“I won’t finish my piece.”

Dan snaps his head at him. He seems more disappointed than angry.

“What do you mean?”

Phil stands in front of Dan.

“Phil, don’t.”

“It’s not good anyway!”

“Phil! It’s beautiful!”

“Why do you care so much about it? It isn’t your dream!”

Dan fumes and lunges himself onto Phil. They lie on the grass, Dan’s arms next to Phil’s head, his face looking down at Phil’s.

_ Tears. There’re tears staining your eyes. It goes to the middle of my chest. You’re not saying a word. _

Did he do something wrong?

“Phil,” Dan barely chokes it out as a whisper. “I want you to be happy.”

Phil stays silent.

“If you get your dream, you’ll be happy, right?”

“I don’t need to be in an art gallery, I can stay with you.”

“That’s not enough!” Dan shouts. His arms get tired and his head is directly on Phil’s chest, his breathing heavy.

Phil doesn’t respond.

“I’m--I’m running out of time.” He mutters.

“D--”

“Next thing you know, I’ll be dead!”

“Dan,” Phil manages to say but he can’t seem to find the words to say what he means. 

“Please finish your piece.”

“It’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not.” Dan grabs the collar of Phil’s shirt. “Do it for me.”

All Phil can do is gulp.

 

*

 

Phil’s in a dream. It isn’t a nightmare but it isn’t a good one as well.

He’s in a white, plain void. He’s alone until Dan shows up. He sits beside him, face split by a smile.

“Will you forget me?” He asks, placing his hand on his.

Phil’s surprised, no doubt. But he shakes his head. Why would he?

“Promise?”

Phil squeezes Dan’s hand. “How can I ever forget you?”

 

He’s woken up by someone calling his phone. It’s 4 am.

He expects that it’s Dan. It isn’t.

 

**

 

Phil didn’t expect Dan to leave anything behind. Not a letter or a video. Yet his mom is giving him a USB.

“Thank you for making Dan’s life a great one, Phil. He loved you.”

Loved.

It hurts. It hurts so bad.

Phil realizes it’s a playlist of pieces. It’s organized by number and it’s entitled as ‘You’ll love these’. There’re 6 pieces in total.

Phil puts his earphones on and closes his eyes after he clicks on number 1.

“Do you miss me already? You better.” Phil tries not to cry, but just hearing Dan’s voice again feels like a shot in the stomach.

“Your bed was super soft, just saying. I’m recording this today, after I went on an unplanned sleepover at your place. Let’s hope I don’t tire myself out. 

“I’m not good with words, so here’s some pieces I think you’d like! The first one is ‘Love’s Sorrow’. Here I go!”

Phil might be imagining it but he’s back at the music room. It’s empty. The smell of chalk looms the air. The keys are moving by their own, until Dan fades in to play them.

He isn’t saying anything, Dan doesn’t notice him. 

There’s a phone on the piano, it’s recording. When Dan looks at him, he stands up.

Number 2.

Dan tackles him and suddenly they’re back at the hospital. Dan’s above Phil, crying, saying things Phil can’t hear. The fireflies are silent, but they create a soft atmosphere that Dan blends into. 

Number 3.

“I bet you know Waltz.” Dan’s recording says.

Dan’s head is on his chest, tears streaming down to his jumper. He just lost the competition and all Phil can do is hug him and assure him that everything was gonna be okay. It was a yellow afternoon.

Number 4.

“ Ballade No 1 in G Minor, Op 23.  “ Dan says.

They’re running from the rain, trying not to let it catch them. They laugh at themselves. How silly they are, but they’re them. Dan’s Dan and Phil can’t be more happy to know that’s a fact.

Number 5.

“Dance Macabre.”

Dan is playing the piano on a stage, flowers might’ve bloom right under his feet. Phil feels in trance once again. He’s fixated on the sky itself, his universe. The lights cast shadows on Dan’s face, but he’s smiling. He’s playing with his fingers like he’s a child playing on a playground. Phil realizes that this was the moment he fell. 

Number 6.

“The last one. I think you already know this very well.”

Etude Opus 25 No. 11, “Winter Wind”

Phil’s back in the music room and Dan’s in front of him.

“I love you.” Says the recording, syncing at Phil’s imaginary Dan.

Phil steps back, his heart is beating so fast.

Dan goes back to his seat and he starts to vanish. 

“Wait.”

Dan closes his eyes and only opens them when he’s facing Phil.

“Thank you.” Says the recording.

 

The playlist stops and Phil’s back at reality. Dan’s gone.

_Thank_ _you_. _You’re a pianist who pulled me in the second you played that first note. You’re the boy who asked me to tutor you, thank you. You’re the boy who told me to run in the rain and you always say ‘bye bye’ instead of just saying it once. Thank_ you.

 

Epilogue:

 

A painting now is hung at one of the biggest art galleries there is to offer. A boy with brown hair sweeping to every direction. His fingers trace the stars, like he’s playing the piano. 

It’s all shades of blue.

Produced by a 17 year-old named Phil Lester.

**Author's Note:**

> hello im sorry


End file.
